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likecanyoujustnot · 3 months

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Jude’s trial, Cardan’s pov

A/n: I’m supposed to be getting ready for my birthday party but I have massive procrastination issues. And this picks off right where the letter ended. Kinda long.

“What do you mean he is dead?”

There were tears in Taryn’s eyes as I paced in front of her.

“He washed up on the beach near our house.” She sniffed. “I don’t know how it happened.”

“When did you notice he was missing?”

I had last seen him two days ago. Entertaining a group of young faeries.

“He didn’t come home after last night and that’s nothing out of the ordinary, you know how he is.”

Yes I did.

“What are you going to do about it?” She looks at me cautiously.

“Hold a trial, I want to find who did this.” I may hate his cheating guts but I wanted to know who in my court thought it was a good idea to kill off my master of revels.

She froze. “Am I a suspect?”

“For now, until we can rule out your innocence.”

She nodded slowly. “What if it was Jude?”

It was my turn to freeze. “What makes you think it was her?”

“She doesn’t like him, and she doesn’t like you much at the moment either, this could be her way of sending a message.”

Not likely. If she wanted to send a message she would’ve crept into my rooms and slit my throat while I slept. This wasn’t her style.

“Trials begin at the beginning of the week, in two days, you are first Taryn.”

She nodded and walked off, a slight tremble in her hands.

Dammit.

Valerian and Locke. Both dead. I didn’t mourn valerian and I doubted I would mourn Locke. They were both awful. But it was now just me and Nicasia. I would probably have to tell her of the murder. She’d probably believe it to be Jude. I don’t know how Taryn could sell out that it might be her twin sister.

I didn’t think it was, but still.

I gave instructions to the guards and Randalin and went back off to my room.

My head was pounding and I wanted nothing more than to just sleep.

I was the king. I could do whatever I wanted.

And so I slept.

The next few days passed without hassle, until the day of the inquest came.

I saw Nicasia first.

She looked awful. Tired and distant. A dress the colours of the sea on her. And next to her stood my mother.

It was night time, the first of the stars visible when a mortal woman walked up to where we stood.

She wore a bronze dress and had a hood pulled over her head.

Taryn looked so much like Jude it hurt. I wonder what would happen if I just left and ran off to the mortal lands to find my wife.

The cold voice of one of my personal guards cut through the chatter. “Taryn Duarte. Wife of Locke. You must stand in the place of petitioners.”

She moved to where she was indicated to stand.

“Taryn?” I asked.

She raises her eyes to me and I am struck by a realisation.

That’s not Taryn.

That’s Jude.

The high queen of faerie.

My wife.

My heart skipped a beat.

“Your majesty.” She said.

“We recognise your grief.” I did my best to keep my voice even. “We would not disturb your mourning were it not for questions over the cause of your husband’s death.” Though I supposed I’m her husband.

Jude.

Here.

“Do you really think she’s sad.” Nicasia cut in. I almost roll my eyes. She steps closer to Taryn- no, Jude- and I tense. Nicasia had a tendency to be irrational, had he friend had just been murdered, making her even more unpredictable. “Did you kill Locke yourself? Or did you get your sister to do it for you?”

“Jude is in exile.” Her words are soft, and I yet again marvel at how easily she can lie. “And I’ve never hurt Locke.”

“No?” I interjected. I leant forward on the throne. My tail twitched. She’s lying again. If she is truly Jude, which she is, she has hurt Locke in the past.

“I lov…” Jude stopped. To anyone else it would look like she was grieving, as though the words were too hard to say.

But I knew better. She was having to force herself to say it.

“I loved him.” She lets out a little sob.

“Sometimes I believed you did yes.” I force my tone to be absentminded, as though I didn’t care. I did believe she loved Locke. And I hated her, for loving him and not me, Locke for tricking her, and myself for not being good enough. “But you could be lying. I am going to put a glamour on you. All it will do is force you to tell us the truth.” I curved my hand and magic shimmered in the air.

“Now, tell me only the truth. What is your name?”

If she wears no protection, under the glamour, she will be forced to admit her title as well. Jude Duarte Greenbriar, High Queen of Elfhame, wife of Cardan.

And that would cause a huge problem.

“Taryn Duarte.” She curtsied. “Daughter of Madoc, wife of Locke, subject of the High King of Elfhame.

Liar. She had to be Jude. I smiled. “What fine courtly manners.”

“I was well instructed.” We were instructed together.

“Did you murder Locke?” There is a silence following my words. The folk quiet in apprehension.

“No.” She said, she gave a pointed look to Nicasia. “Nor did I orchestrate his death. Perhaps we ought to look to the sea, where he was found.”

I wanted to laugh at the poeticness of this moment. Either Taryn had killed Locke and didn’t want anyone to know, or Jude killed both of them and was know planning my own demise. That didn’t scare me as much as it should have.

Nicasia turns to me. “We know Jude murdered Balekin. She confessed as much. And I have long suspected her of killing Valerian.” I wondered how she would react if I told her she had killed him. “If Taryn isn’t the culprit then Jude must be. Queen Orlagh, my mother, swore a truce with you. What possible gain could sue have from the murder of your master of revels? She knew he was your friend- and mine.” Her voice breaks at the end, her grief palpable.

I peer back down at Jude. “Well, what do you think? Did your sister do it? And don’t tell me what I already know. Yes I sent Jude into exile. That may or may not have deterred her.”

She looks like she wants to punch me. “She had no reason to hate Locke, I don’t think she wished him ill.”

“Is that so?” I knew for a fact she did.

“Perhaps it is only court gossip, but there is a popular tale about you, your sister and Locke.” I wanted to snap at my mother for bringing herself into a conversation where she is not needed. “She loved him, but he chose you. Some sisters cannot bear to see the other happy.”

I glanced at her.

“Jude never loved Locke.” Her face went a slight pink. “She loved someone else. He’s the one she’d want dead.”

I flinched at both meanings to her words. She wanted me dead, and she loved me.

I wasn’t sure which alarmed me more.

She loved me

Loved.

As in past tense

“Enough.” I said before she could keep talking. “I have heard all I care to on this subject-”

“No!” Nicasia interrupted. Everyone stirred a little. She cut me off. The high king. She seems to realise it as she goes on. “Taryn could have a charm on her, something that makes her resistant to glamours.”

I glared at Nicasia for undermining my authority. I look back to Jude and give her a cruel smile. “I suppose she’ll have to be searched.”

I could sense Nicasia’s sneer.

Jude stood up taller in a position that reminded me of Oriana. “My husband was murdered. And whether or not you believe me, I do mourn him. I will not make a spectacle of myself for the court’s amusement when his body is barely cold.”

I admired the sheer will and determination in her voice.

My smile only grew. This is was chance to get her alone. “As you wish. Then I suppose I will have to examine you alone in my chambers.”

I could barely keep myself from smiling in glee. Jude was back. And she was following me to my rooms. And there I would ask her why she stayed away so long. Why she didn’t come home to me.

She was nervous, she had no clue I knew she wasn’t Taryn. And that scared her. She knew that if I had her undressed I would know her body. Her scars and imperfections.

Never mind I could tell who she was just off of her face.

I passed a hooded servant carrying pale green wine.

There was a cry and a crash behind me and I wip around. Jude is on the floor, the servant with her. Her dress soaked in wine and the shattered glass around them.

Jude helped the servant girl sweep up debris before she says. “Oh no, my lady, your pardon, you ought not lower yourself.”

One of my guards catches her arm. “Come along,” he said as he lifted her to her feet, and we continued walking.

Two servants open the heavy doors to my chambers and I threw myself down in a low couch in the parlour, Jude stood awkwardly in the centre of the room.

My feet rested on the stone table. “Well.” I said, patting the couch beside me, an invitation for her to sit. “Didn’t you get my letters?”

“What?” She croaked.

“You never replied to a one. I began to wonder if you’d misplaced your ambition in the mortal world.”

“Your majesty.” Her said, voice stiff. “I thought you brought me here to assure yourself I had neither charm nor amulet.”

I raised an eyebrow and my smile deepened. “I will if you like. Shall I command you to remove your clothes? I don’t mind.” Not in the slightest.

“What are you doing.” She’s desperate now. “What are you playing at?”

She still thought she can convince me she’s Taryn. It was adorable. “Jude, you can’t really think I don’t know it’s you. I knew you from the moment you walked in the brugh.”

She shook her head. “That’s not possible.”

I stood, watching her intently. “Come closer.”

She took a step back.

I frowned. “My councillors told me that you met with an ambassador from the court of teeth, that you must be working with Madoc now. I was unwilling to believe it, but seeing the way you look at me, pervades I must.” She was angry, and rightfully so, looking like she wanted to run me through with a knife. “Tell me it’s not true.” It could not be true, she wouldn’t plot against me, would she? Though if I died, she would be free to rule without me, Madoc whispering in her ear.

“I’m not the betrayer here.”

“Are you angry about-” I stopped, studying her face more carefully. “No, you’re afraid. But why would you be afraid of me?” I’d never done anything for her to fear.

“I’m not.” She trembled. “I hate you. You sent me into exile. Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it’s all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.”

“Of course it was a trick-” I noted that she was now holding a blade. Sheathed, but it looked deadly.

Suddenly everything shook. An explosion that was close enough to cause us both to stumble. Books fell and crystal orbs rolled onto the floor. I looked at her, surprised, before I realised, she could have done this. My eyes narrowed.

Then there’s the sound of metal striking metal, swords.

“Stay here.” She drew the blade.

No. “Jude, don’t-” I call after her as she slipped out of the room.

Dammit.

I had Jude back, and I would not loose her again. I drew into my power, commanding it to listen, to reshape the burgh. Commanding the doorways to crack and shrink. From the screams of the guards I knew that vines, roots and leaves were clicking them, starting to creep around their necks, strangling them.

They had taken Jude.

And they would not forget it.

#cardan greenbriar #the cruel prince #judes trial cardans pov #the queen of nothing #queen of nothing #the folk of the air #folk of the air #jude duarte #jurdan #jurdan fanfic

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starrynightsxo · 3 months

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Cardan is the Vivienne Westwood of Elfhame. No, I cannot tell you why, you either get it or you don't.

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darlingod · 1 year

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Cardan being Cardan and sending Jude a matching outfit:

#the silver #the dark blues #the branches on her dress and his crown #likeeee he did not miss #he was smart to not say it was from him lmao #must’ve really wanted her to wear it #like buddy randomly goes over and starts dancing with her #you can’t tell me it’s not bc he’s gotta let everyone see how good they look together #jk but he was 100% lit as fuck to see her wear the dress #like when she asks him what he wants he never answers the question #jude duarte #the cruel prince #cardan greenbriar #jurdan #the wicked king #queen of nothing

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hazyange1s · 3 months

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MC: Raegan DesRosiers

Basics

Full name: Raegan Caítríona DesRosiers

Nickname: Rae, Rae Rae, Reggie (don’t call her that she’ll hex you)

Gender: female

Species: witch

Date of birth: November 27, 1874

Nationality: French and Irish

Blood status: half blood

Wand: blackthorn, dragon heartstring, 11 3/4 in, rigid

Appearance

Hair color: dark ginger

Hair style: often worn pulled back in a loose braid or bun, though she starts wearing it down w/ her natural messy waves in sixth year

Eye color: amber

Skin tone: fair

Height: 5’5” (and some change)

Body type: curvy and toned from Quidditch/dueling

Clothing style: dark and warm colors (black, red, brown), likes heavy fabrics such as wool, velvet, and leather, prefers to dress casual in battle-ready clothes but also enjoys dressing up

Accessories:

likes to use her wand to keep her hair up

often wears dragon hide gloves

ring made of goblin metal (given to her in sixth year)

Other distinguishing features:

two old scars through her left eyebrow (no memory of getting them)

longer scar over the same eye (cut by a sword during the final repository battle)

LOTS of freckles

Personality

Traits: confident, hotheaded, proud, rebellious, domineering, persuasive, flirtatious

Likes: summer, history, flying, parties, freedom, traveling, independence

Dislikes: authority, swimming/the rain, silence, wet blankets, seafood

Hobbies: dueling, Quidditch, historical research, dancing, weapon-making

Fears: drowning, being forgotten/insignificant, losing control

MBTI: ESTP-T

Enneagram: 8w7 (873) sx/sp

Zodiac: Sagittarius sun, scorpio moon, leo rising

Temperament: choleric

Archetype: The Rebel

Similar characters: Aelin Galthynius, Ginny Weasley, Damon Salvatore, Bellamy Blake, Jude Duarte, Faith Lehane

Family/Friends

Father: Marcel DesRosiers

Muggle

French diplomat

Left when Raegan was eight

Massive preening asshole who despises magic

Mother: Kassady DesRosiers (Fallon)

Pureblood witch

Dragonologist

Killed when Raegan was 15 (a victim of Jack the Ripper)

Gryffindor alumnus

Sibling: Ronan Sharp (half-brother/twin in utero)

Parents are Kassady DesRosiers and Aesop Sharp

Two months older (born Sept. 21)

Hufflepuff

Pet: Soleil

Phoenix (found in the mountain cave)

Fiercely loyal; as all phoenixes are, known to show up at odd times (whether she’s in trouble or just to harass his mom)

Friends: Diana Blackwine (childhood best friend), Sebastian Sallow, Natsai Onai, Garreth Weasley, Ominis Gaunt, Leander Prewett, Imelda Reyes (frenemies)

Magic

Boggart: her father…until her guilt over the loss of Professor Fig leads him to be her new one

Patronus: tigress

Polyjuice: turns amber and tastes like honey mead

Amortentia: cinnamon, clove, smoke, and sandalwood

Special abilities:

Ancient magic

Dark Arts (wielded “when necessary” which is really just…whenever her instincts say)

Pyromancy - Raegan is an Igneus; a species of witch that is immune to and can conjure fire at will, the trait being passed through her mother’s bloodline

Backstory

Born in Avignon, France, Raegan had a turbulent childhood. While her mother was loving and kind, she often had to travel for her work - as did Raegan’s father, meaning she was often with only one parent for extended periods of time or had to be watched by one of her paternal aunts. When he was around, Marcel was not an affectionate man…in fact, he was often physically and verbally abusive to his wife right in front of Raegan and extended the treatment to her as she got older.

Eventually he discovered that Kassady had had an affair and conceived a son with another man. This coupled with his disdain for witchcraft led him to abandon his wife and daughter. So, the two moved back to Kassady’s hometown of Galway, Ireland.

However, times were tough. Her mother’s career as a dragonologist was no longer lucrative enough in the troubling times, and so they again relocated to London.

It was there that Kassady met a tragic, sudden end at the hands of an unidentified serial killer (who many suspected was actually a wizard). A newly orphaned Raegan, upon hearing the news, burned her house to the ground and wound up killing the officer who reported it accidentally.

The emotion was enough to unlock the ancient magic that had been hidden away inside of her, and just days after her mother’s funeral she received her Hogwarts letter. She now lives with her best friend (Diana)’s aunt in Scotland.

Academics

Best subject: DADA

Favorite subject: Flying and History of Magic

Favorite teacher: Hecat and Sharp

Worst subject: Herbology

Least favorite subject: Herbology and Divination

Least favorite teacher: Binns

Quidditch: Chaser (sixth year) and Quidditch Captain in seventh

As a student:

Rarely late, but she does miss (more than) a few classes in her fifth year

Detention record reads more like a rap sheet

Infamous but still respected; dedicated and intelligent

Future

Career: Auror

Though Raegan notoriously resists authority and despises the incompetence of the Ministry, she sees working for them as an opportunity to change things. Being in on the more secretive matters going on behind the scenes of the Wizarding World (and the chance to deal with them under the protection of their influence) doesn’t hurt, either.

They likely would have fired her on her first day for her insubordination, but they can’t deny the fact that she quickly becomes one of the best they have. Really, it’s a case of mutual loathing maintained through an advantageous truce.

Eventually, she does leave of her own accord, and takes up studying ancient history and magical weapon making.

Spouse: Sebastian Sallow (m. 1898)

(thanks @rypnami for motivating me by association to finally post this months old draft 🤠)

#hogwarts legacy #harry potter #hogwarts legacy screenshots #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy oc #oc #sebastian sallow #raegan desrosiers

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lidiasloca · 1 year

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the joker and the queen (jurdan fic)

Post QON

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄☆

“I might have the king.” Jude smirks to herself while she raises the bet.

I stare at my hand, a pretty poor one, but I could do something if the king of hearts came out now on the River.

Unfortunately, said card is the one she’s most likely holding right now, leaving in her hands my fortune.

“I hate this game.” I tell her, with both my words and the irritated look on my face.

“Don’t be a bad loser.” She says, and if my queen weren’t wearing that mocking smile I love, the one I definitely have influenced her with, I would be reminding her of the advantage she has in this “poker Jude’s version” where she has added her and her sisters’ rules to it.

Rules I am vaguely aware of thanks to a 1 minute explanation she gave me before starting.

“I haven’t lost yet, love.” I reach to grab her wine glass since I have already drank mine and I take a sip, well needed.

In a naive move, I equal to what she has raised. The dealer, also known to us as the Roach, flips the last card on the table.

To my luck, it ain’t the king, meaning I have nothing, meaning I lose, meaning Jude wins, meaning the game is finally over.

She puts down her cards to show that she actually has the king that matches the queen of hearts resting in the table -a pair that makes the player win, according to the Duarte’s rules-.

“Yes! I knew you’d win.” Taryn at her side congratulates her.

Unlike Jude’s poker partner, at my side, I only hear Vivi’s snort of disapproval. “How are you so bad at this?” She tells me.

We were paired this way -another weird rule of theirs- and both Vivi and Taryn had lost, leaving Jude and me as the only part of each team to get a chance to win.

“It’s not as if you've done better.” I answer while I see the Roach dragging across the table all of the “immortals with a weakness for mortals” team’s money, the name is Vivi’s invention.

“Don’t be too harsh on my king, will you?” Jude tells Vivi while she is looking at me with a grin.

-My king- sounds too good even accompanied with her ironic tone, one well known by me. “He's not that bad, it is only that I am too good.” That makes me chuckle.

When Taryn finishes collecting their money I stand and walk to my wife.

In the big table where we are, everyone stops to stare: the Roach and the Bomb, Taryn with the Ghost and Vivi next to Heather and other people who were watching the game. I don’t mind.

I stand next to her, looking directly into her beautiful big brown eyes and I offer her my hand.

To my surprise, she takes it with no hesitation. Her hand tanned and warm against my cold pale hand.

She rises from her seat, her lips now parted in surprise instead of the teasing smile she had before. Her gorgeous yet discreet green silk dress -chosen by me, with her permission- falls elegantly, hauling across the floor when she takes a step closer to me.

“Where?” She whispers, only meant for me to hear, sending goosebumps across my neck.

“Wherever.”

I suddenly remember the eyes that are expectantly on us when, instead of responding, Jude turns to watch Vivi only to find her smirking as if she just found out our secrets.

I snort gazing at Vivi before I place my hand delicately on Jude’s chin and turn her face to look at me again.

I ask her once more, now with my eyes. She nods as she fails to suppress a mischievous grin when I myself smile at her.

With her hand on mine, I start walking backwards, my eyes still staring at my queen and blurring out everything behind her, everything but Taryn’s incredulous and quite disgusted grimace made when Vivi whispers something to her.

Knowing Vivienne, I don’t really wanna know.

We leave the room and find ourselves in another one, this one more quiet and lonely.

I finally bring myself to turn and walk properly the moment Jude gives me an irritated look when she has to grab me before bumping into a cabinet, a drink cabinet, to my luck.

I kneel before it and take Jude’s favorite drink instead of wine. I stuff two juice boxes in my pocket.

“What did you take?” She asks as I raise and grab her hand again. I ignore her question and start walking to exit the room, but when I think about leaving this quiet I stop in front of the door. I’m close enough that I can hear the revel’s musicians.

“Wife, I have no heart for the party outside.” I admit. I really don’t, and it’s stupid since I’m the one that ordered it to be done.

However, since this night, when I woke up from a nightmare, I knew the rest of the night wouldn’t treat me any better than the day had, but the party was already settled, so there was nothing to be done.

Nothing except taking refuge in my and my wife’s solitude in the poker room where I had asked her to accompany me in, far from the revel.

A solitude not long living thanks to Jude’s twin, followed by the Ghost and others who later joined.

Jude, with caring eyes -eyes I didn’t know about until some months ago, when she and I finally let go of our armor- stares at me in silence as if looking into my soul in the most loving way I could ever be looked at.

“Husband,” She says as she lifts a hand to caress my cheek. I genuinely never expect Jude to be this tender, and so when she is, I cherish every bit of it. “May I remind you that you are the high king, if you don’t want to go, then don’t.” I inevitably smile at that.

I hand her the juice box that I’d kept in my pocket and begin opening mine. “And… since you are the queen-.” I say watching her stab her mortal juice box with the straw and suddenly looking up to me.

“The high queen.” She corrects me, making me chuckle.

“Yes, sorry, the high queen.” I take a sip of my juice before continuing. “Well, since you are the high queen, you ought to decide what we’ll do. Instead of going to the party.”

She bites her lip as she thinks about it for a second. “I want…” She looks into my eyes as if I could know. Could I? “Mmm.” She smiles then. I know that smile like the back of my hand. I smile too.

“That’s what you want?” I respond. She seems surprised while she nods.

My smile grows wider while I start walking with her.

“Why are you happy about it?” She asks. I turn to look at her expecting her mocking face.“I thought you said you hated Duarte’s poker.” She adds. Oh. Well that’s that.

“Poker is what you want to do? Again?” I ask while I sigh. “I thought… whatever.”

But I know she knows because she starts laughing -pretty hysterically I’d say-. Great. “Okay, love, stop it. It’s not that funny” I try to contain my smile.

“You are funny.” That’s not actually a compliment because I know what she means is that I’m what’s funny. Like a jester. “Sorry” She says holding up an apologetic hand when her laugh transforms into a smile.

I take a sip from my juice while I stare at her in an exaggerated judging way, which makes her chuckle. “I do hate Duarte’s poker.” I confess though she does very well know that already. “But I do find it funny how bad you are at cheating when stealing and hiding cards.”

“Hey! That’s not true.” Jude says pretending to be affronted. “You cannot really think I’m bad at it. No one has noticed.”

I laugh while I pull her closer by the waist. I feel her breath catch. I take out a hidden card out of a secret pocket in her dress. “Well -agh- are you always looking at all I do like a creep or what?” She says smirking.

“No.” I caress her cheek. “Not like a creep.” She then reaches to take another card from a pocket I didn’t know her dress had.

She shows it to me so that I see the king of hearts between her hands. “You.” I say looking down at her.

“I stole this one too, yes.” She confesses. Of course she did steal it.

And the irony of her stealing the king and having it in her hands yet again makes me smile like an idiot.

-Characters by Holly Black

#jurdan #jude and cardan #jurdan headcanon #the folk of the air #thefolkoftheair #jurdan canon #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #jude and cardan headcanon #i miss jude and cardan #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #cardan x jude #jurdan fic #jude and cardan fic #jurdan fanfic #the cruel prince

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laequiem · 4 months

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Cheek to Cheek in Hell - epilogue

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar

Rating: explicit

Word count: 2,860

Next to the bed, I unstrap my sword belt and let it fall to the floor in a clank of metal. When I look back at him, Cardan has straightened, his body angling towards me. “Master of Revels?” I ask innocently. “Not my consort?” “Do they have to be mutually exclusive?”

read it on ao3

Chapter 20 • Cheek to Cheek masterpost

I watched the Folk reveling from my place atop the dais. Watched as Cardan drank until he could barely stand, all the while sending lecherous glances my way. I haven’t seen him in hours, though—the fool probably passed out somewhere. I smile to myself as I push open the doors to my rooms, the guards flanking the High King’s rooms—now High Queen’s—bowing as I enter.

Iron trinkets already litter my floor like the dullest dragon hoard. No doubt the guards carrying them up to my rooms were in a hurry to get rid of them, though they wore padded elbow-length gloves to avoid touching the metal. Still, they left a path for me to get to my bedroom without having to walk over rusty toasters and tire rims. I lift the hem of my dress as I make my way towards the bedroom, eager to wash off this paint and feel like myself again.

Before I can even locate the bathing room, I stop, gaping. Cardan lounges on my new bed like it’s his, one arm draped over mountains of pillows. He is wearing nothing but the ridiculously fluffy robe he bought from Target—the hood pulled up over his messy curls, two triangular pieces poking from it like cat ears. His other hand disappears under the folds of his robe. I immediately look away when I see it moving, slowly, over the hard length barely hidden by his robe.

“It is cruel of you to make your humble servant wait so long, my wicked Queen,” he drawls.

I risk another gaze at him and lock my eyes on his. I try to keep my face imperious: a raised brow, my mouth set. I can feel the blush on my cheeks, though, and he smiles as though he knows how difficult it is to ignore the lecherous movement.

“If the guards let you in, perhaps I already need to change my staff,” I joke. “I never gave them leave to let you in.”

Cardan’s grin is wicked, “They don’t know I’m here.”

“Sneaky,” I croon. “Should I hire you as a spy?”

“Master of Revels suits me plenty,” he answers.

I have never heard of such a title. For all I know, he made it up on the spot. Still, I make a mental note to ask the Roach. Cardan would fit in with the ragtag group of spies that make up Dain’s former Court of Shadows. He has the Bomb’s penchant for the dramatics, the Roach’s snark and he could buy the Ghost’s affections with the secrets of the palace’s wine stores.

I stalk towards him, purposefully swaying my hips when I see that his eyes dip down to watch my advance. His tail thumps against the mattress, betraying his eagerness.

Next to the bed, I unstrap my sword belt and let it fall to the floor in a clank of metal. When I look back at him, Cardan has straightened, his body angling towards me.

“Master of Revels?” I ask innocently. “Not my consort?”

“Do they have to be mutually exclusive?”

Cardan leans back again as I climb on the bed, the mattress shifting under my weight. When I straddle him, his tail immediately snakes under my dress, brushing against my thigh in a soft caress.

I hum. “I suppose not.” I place a hand on his chest, around where Balekin’s sword impaled him. “How is your wound?”

“Better. Healing,” he says.

Healing. Not healed. I lift off his chest, as my weight on him must not be helping. His hands come to cradle my waist.

“I like you above me,” he complains.

“So do I,” I admit. “But a Queen ought to be worshiped, does she not?”

“You ought to be worshiped.” His hands idly move down my body, spreading over my hips.

With a slight shove of his hands, he flips us around until he is on top of me. His pupils are so large, only the golden rings framing his irises are visible. He looks down at me, his eyes following the strokes of paint he drew on me. I lift a finger to trace his jaw.

“Everyone saw you kneel for me,” I tease. “Surely, that’s profane. A Prince kneeling for a human.”

I’ve teased him about this before. What would your friends think? The Prince on his knees in front of a mere mortal, I had told him, when all of this started.

“I would do it again,” Cardan vows. “If you let me, I would kneel at your feet while you sat on the throne.”

Something in my chest twists at his words and I bite my lip. I love his dramatics, his grandiose vows, but… “I would much rather have you by my side,” I reply.

“You do. For as long as you’ll have me.”

I slide a hand behind his neck and bring his face down to me. Our lips meet in what is possibly the softest kiss we’ve ever exchanged until my hand slides up to his hair and I pull lightly. He groans into my mouth and I flick my tongue against his lips. He opens for me and the kiss morphs into a desperate dance.

His mouth never leaving mine, he kicks my legs open with his knee. As soon as he settles between my legs, he grinds his erection against me, only the thin fabric of my dress between our bare skin. It’s my turn to groan, and he pulls away to nuzzle at my throat.

“You were glorious tonight, my Queen,” he whispers against that soft spot beneath my ear. “You should have seen your Council when you called the land’s power. Soon enough, they’ll be as smitten with you as I am.”

I snort at that, “I don’t think I could handle that. One of you is plenty.”

Cardan hums, running a hand up my side. Slowly, he hooks a finger under the fabric barely hiding my breast and slides it away. His mouth moves down my throat, leaving a trail of kisses in its wake. I look down when I feel his breath against my breast, only to find him staring at me. With a grin, he licks up the slope of my breast to the tip of my nipple, smudging the gold paint. He keeps his eyes locked to mine as he brings his mouth to my nipple, sucking it once before giving it a quick flick of his tongue.

His onslaught continues as he moves to my other breast, freeing it from the dress and smearing the paint on that one, too. He nibbles and sucks at the skin, leaving love bites when he gets too carried away. When he finally moves lower down, his chin is covered in the golden paint, his hair highlighted with sparkling glitter where it brushed against my skin.

Flat on his stomach, Cardan squeezes my thighs and parts them, then brings a hand to my folds and parts those, too, leaving me fully exposed to him.

“So pretty,” he breathes right before bringing his mouth to my core.

I swear, bucking against his mouth until he has to pin me down with a hand on my stomach. He starts with broad strokes, but soon enough isn’t satisfied with my reactions and sucks on my clitoris, flicks it, lets his teeth graze it—until I’m panting and clutching at the sheets.

“Car—fuck, you’re so good at this,” I mewl.

I think I can feel him smirk against me. His tail gives a flick, as if it started moving on its own and he had to will it to stop. When I bury my fingers in his hair and pull, he rewards me by bringing a finger to my entrance, teasing, not quite entering. I groan, my core aching for it. Craving it. When did I start craving something inside me? It was never something I cared for before—if I needed to get myself off, to relax, my fingers on my bud were more than enough, but not anymore. I feel myself trudging towards that blissful edge, but I ache for more.

“Want more?” he asks, as if he knows how desperate I am. Of course he knows.

I pull his hair harder. “I’m not going to beg you.”

With a chuckle, he plunges two fingers inside me. Again, my hips buck and again, he pushes me back down into the mattress. He keeps his eyes on mine as he puts his mouth against my clit again and sucks. It’s all I needed. I scream his name as my orgasm plummets into me, clutching at his hair, at the sheets, until he has mercy on me and his mouth leaves my core.

He slides his fingers out of me and, when I finally look down at him, keeps his eyes on mine as he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, his tongue sliding between his middle finger and ring finger in a lewd gesture that has me blushing. It’s only then that I notice his hands are back to being perfectly groomed, most nails filed into points except for the blunt tips of the two he is lewdly sucking on.

“Was this enough for you, Your Majesty?” he jests.

I grab hold of the front of his robe and yank. He tumbles onto me and I capture his mouth in a kiss. It’s titillating, the way I taste myself on his tongue. It’s indecent, it’s shameless, it’s… sensual. Cardan runs his hand through my hair, careful of the messy tangles created by our previous activities.

I bite his lip as we part, then smirk. “You know it’s not. Remove that ridiculous robe and get on with it.”

“At your service, my Queen,” he replies, batting his eyelashes.

He digs into one of the pockets of his robe and pulls out a condom packet. I almost roll my eyes at how prepared he is, until I remember the glances he was throwing with me at the revel and how I found him here, his hand on his cock. Instead, I blush. I lost sight of him hours ago, has he been here all that time, teasing, edging himself? No–he clearly took hours to prepare. There is the matter of his hands, sure, but being back in the palace clearly gave him all the tools he needed to be preen himself back to regal perfection. His brows are plucked, his lashes unfairly long and perfectly curled. No hint of stubble anywhere–all the places where hair grew during our time in the mortal realm are now silky smooth.

Next to him, I must look like a wild animal, but he makes no comment on it, nor does he seem to notice.

Cardan tears the packet with his teeth and slides the condom out. I watch, transfixed, as he rolls it down his length. Then, he shrugs out of his robe and throws it to the floor.

When he positions himself above me again, he slides his hard length over my folds, coating himself in my wetness and his own spit. The head of his cock pokes my entrance. Given how wet I am, he’ll have no trouble sliding in, and yet—he stops there.

I frown up at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s searching the room for something. Just as I am about to ask him what the fuck he’s waiting for, he stretches his lean body over me to grab something. When he is back in position, he presses something cold and hard into my hand, closing my fist over it. He brings my hand to his throat and I see it, the dagger he got me for my birthday, carved with his name. He angles my hand so that the sharp edge is against his throat, then lets go.

“Are you sure?” I ask him.

He nods shallowly, just enough that the blade digs in his skin and he sighs, rocking his hips ever so slightly.

“Fuck me, then,” I order, my voice coming off more confident than I thought it would.

He braces a hand against the mattress, right next to my shoulder, and burrows in so, so slowly. We both gasp when he bottoms out, his hips flush against mine. I wrap my legs against his hips and we both exhale simultaneously, unprepared for the way he suddenly felt so much deeper. Still, he stays motionless, so I move the dagger, scraping the edge of his Adam’s apple as though I was shaving him.

“Move,” I order.

His throat bobs as he swallows and then he moves, barely slipping out as he rolls his hips, shifting. It is technically a trust, just enough that he can say that he did, in fact, move.

“Cardan,” I warn.

He looks at me with the most innocent look I have never seen on his face. Cardan is not innocent, I have never seen him innocent—his family ensured I never would, drilling wickedness and pride into him with contempt and a whip. When he rocks his hips again, he can’t hide the upward tug of his lips, the smug delight peeking through.

I move the blade so the point of it is against his chin and lift it, making him have to stretch his neck uncomfortably to still look at me.

“I asked you to fuck me, not make love to me,” I hiss.

I see the blow land before I even realize I’ve dealt it, when he frowns and his mouth drops open ever so slightly. I was only trying to be… sexy. Dominant, I suppose, but I have no experience with these things.

“Shit. I didn’t mean—” I start, but he interrupts me.

“With you,” he replies, “they’ve always been one and the same.”

I pull the dagger away, wanting to reach for him and … I don’t know, embrace him? Kiss him? Show him that I do love him, without saying the words that I don’t know how or when to say. Before the blade can leave his throat, however, he grabs my wrist and pulls it right back to where it was.

“Show me how much you love me,” I say, a little quietly. “Show me until I can’t remember that I hate you.”

I jump as his tail comes to brush against my ankle, just before wrapping around it. As if to reassure me, when I should be the one reassuring him. Then he shifts, pulling out of me. He unwraps my legs from around his waist, only to hook my knees over his elbows. When he pushes into me again, he puts all of his weight in the movement, pressing my legs back against me as he leans his whole weight against me. The leftover gold dust on his chest mixes with the paint that the lower courts used to draw on my legs. With every plunge of his length in me, the paint gets more and more smudged, mud and blood and gold paint blending to paint him into a filthy tableau of debauchery.

A hand finds my breast and he kneads the flesh before squeezing hard, his nails leaving half-moon indentations in my skin. I reach up for his hair again, pulling him to me. His lips are inches from mine, the dagger between us.

“I wish I had said it earlier. Days ago,” I say against his lips, keeping him only far enough that he can’t kiss me. “Weeks ago. But I love you, Cardan.”

Then, knowing the dagger will dig against his skin, I kiss him. Cardan moans into my mouth, but the threat of the dagger doesn’t hinder me. He kisses me back like he needs my breath to live. It’s messy, all tongues and teeth.

When he pulls away, I see blood pooling from a small scratch. I throw the dagger to the floor and bring my mouth to his neck, licking up the blood.

Cardan’s thrusts falter and I feel him throbbing inside me. He swears, driving into me harder than before. He lets go of one of my legs to slide a hand to my core. With quick, clumsy flicks of his fingers against my clit, I come again. Before I have time to scream once more, he kisses me, keeping the sound of his name to himself. We kiss for what feels like minutes, hours, days, the kiss turning from passionate to lazy, tired kisses. Until it is nothing more than the pressure of his lips against mine, both of us smiling into each other’s mouth.

We don’t really part, he mostly just slumps until he’s all but laying on top of me, dark curls draped over the skin of my chest as his face is pressed between my breasts.

“Stay by my side,” I plead softly.

“I’m not going anywhere, this is too comfortable,” he mumbles, nibbling at a breast.

I flick his head and he looks up, smirking.

“I’m serious,” I insist. “If I’m doing this whole… High Queen thing, I want to do it with you. Together.”

Cardan reaches for my hand and squeezes my fingers.

“Together,” he agrees.

#the folk of the air #tfota #jurdan #judecardan #the cruel prince #the wicked king #the queen of nothing #cardan greenbriar #jude duarte

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eerna · 10 months

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Your Jude Duarte is the best Jude. Idk what it is exactly but I think you manage to make her (and Taryn) look more "mortal" in comparison to the fae. Like less inhumanly beautiful or "perfect" or something while still being gorgeous (also I love your interpretation of the dresses and I the ram horn hairstyle).

THANK YOUUU :D It's a lot of fun to try to make them different!! I give them eyebags and rounder, softer features. The dresses are just SO MUCH FUN to draw and think up, seriously food for creativity, and so is that ram hairstyle which changes every time I draw it but it's always cool to try to get it.

#nottherailtracer #eernask #eernask talk tfota #thanks

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homemadefantasy · 1 year

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Taryn's Inquest - Cardan's POV

Summary: Taryn's inquest and the moments that follow - from Cardan's perspective.

Across the room, Jude appears, dressed as Taryn. She is in all of the Court’s finery, looking as much to me like her sister as she always has, which is to say she looks nothing like her sister. Sure, they may have the same physical appearance, but the difference in the manner in which they carry themselves is unmistakable. Where Taryn is demure and desperate to please, Jude is unapologetic and strong. I am amazed she is able to fool anyone with how straight she stands and how high she holds her head; Taryn would be sniveling with her shoulders slumped.

I am at a loss as to why she would return this way, play-acting a part that could not suit her less. Nevertheless, I must assume she has come to me in this way for a reason. If she wants to identify as her worthless twin, I shall let her.

Despite my role as king and the image I must maintain, despite my resolve to protect Taryn, despite everything, it takes all the self-discipline, a skill of whose existence until very recently I was unaware, I can muster to refrain from running across the room and taking her into my arms.

Soon, she is standing before me, deep within a curtsy that appears to cause her physical pain. It looks entirely unnatural for her to be bowing to me, to anyone, not even considering that she is the queen of the land. Oh, Jude. I just barely catch myself before saying the wrong name.

“Taryn?” She looks up at me with reluctance. Her pupils dilate and her eyes glitter with barely contained anger.

“Your majesty,” she says stiffly.

I suppose she expects me to play my part as well. I suppose I shall. I hesitate for a moment, imagining with no small amount of difficulty that the sister before is the pathetic, sniveling travesty of Jude.

“We recognize your grief. We would not disturb your mourning were it not for questions over the cause of your husband’s death.”

Questions, I suppose, I now know the answer to, since she sent her sister in her stead. Although, many other questions take their place. My jumbled thoughts turn to my many unrequited letters, and I wonder at her return. She must never have planned to; I suppose Taryn’s impending execution alone lured her back. But, for the time being, I will exploit any opportunity to convince her to rule beside me. In Elfhame.

I am pulled back to the present as Nicasia, with no small amount of malice, accuses Jude of Locke’s demise. Unbeknownst to her, it seems, she is standing before us. Am I really the only one who can see that this is very much not Taryn? I realize, with a knot of shame, that I alone pay the exceptional amount of attention to her required to uncover her slight so quickly.

Her voice changes then, the silence of the room glinting off her voice as moonlight off the edge of a particularly sharp knife. “Jude is in exile.” Is she really? “And I’ve never hurt Locke.” If there were any doubt of her not being Taryn, it has just been expunged from my mind, as Taryn would never have shown such repulsion, however subtle, at the necessity of saying the name.

Nicasia is too wrapped up in her own grief over Locke to notice.

I am not so encumbered.

“No?”

“I lov… I loved him.” She says with no small amount of difficulty. I think back to Locke’s ridiculous party, of her obvious infatuation. Of the ridiculous and unexpected anger that seemed to overwhelm me at the sight of her in his arms. Of my own fury mirrored in her eyes when she glanced at me. Of the countless weeks that followed during which I tried, albeit unsuccessfully, not to think or care about Locke’s toying with the Duarte sisters. Of Jude’s defiance at that critical moment when Locke believed he would have both sisters under his control. Of the chaos that directly followed.

“Sometimes I believed that you did, yes. But you could well be lying. I am going to put a glamour on you. All it will do is force you to tell us the truth.” Or at least it would, had she not foolishly bargained with the most abominable of my siblings. However, despite the idiocy of the choice, I cannot deny that it has ended up being quite a valuable little talent.

“Now, tell me only the truth. What is your name?”

“Taryn Duarte.” Jude dips into an unnatural-looking, at least for her, curtsy. “Daughter of Madoc, wife of Locke, subject of the High King of Elfhame.”

As if. There wasn’t a single word that just came out of her mouth that was not a lie. That’s my girl. The thought comes to me unbidden and with sharp barbs that pierce through my heart. Because she’s not. She’s not my girl, is she? Regardless of what I thought before her exile, she chose to stay. She chose to stay as far away as possible from me. Nerves suddenly overtake me as I begin to consider just why she is here in the first place.

“What fine courtly manners.”

“I was well instructed,” she says pointedly.

“Did you murder Locke?” The room goes silent as it awaits her confession.

“No. Nor did I orchestrate his death. Perhaps we ought to look to the sea, where he was found.” I do not miss the implication, or the glance she shoots my former lover.

Neither does Nicasia. She turns to me, likely believing she is imparting great wisdom and knowledge upon me. Little does she know that I only require answers from one person right now. “We know that Jude murdered Balekin. She confessed as much. And I have long suspected her of killing Valerian.” How did she know about Valerian? Perhaps I ought to keep a better eye on Nicasia.

“If Taryn isn’t the culprit, then Jude must be.” Perhaps I will ask her myself. “Queen Orlagh, my mother, – ” Yes, I know who Queen Orlagh is, thank you – “swore a truce with you. What possible gain could she have from the murder of your Master of Revels? She knew he was your friend – and mine.”

Debatable. In front of me, Jude appears to be having some sort of episode. After a moment of consideration, I decide to humor Nicasia.

“Well, what do you think? Did your sister do it? And don’t tell me what I already know. Yes, I sent Jude into exile. That may or may not have deterred her.”

“She had no reason to hate Locke. I don’t think she wished him ill.” I could think of a few reasons. I hate Locke for what he did to Jude; I can hardly imagine what she feels for him.

“Is that so?”

Right then, my mother decides to be… helpful. “Perhaps it is only Court gossip, but there is a popular tale about you, your sister, and Locke. She loved him, but he chose you. Some sisters cannot bear to see the other happy.”

Jude regards my mother with veiled surprise before she counters her with – “Jude never loved Locke. She loved someone else.” I am on the edge of my throne. “He’s the one she’d want dead.”

My brain locks up, unsure if it should key on her confession of love in front of the whole court or on her declaration that she desires my death. Either way, I know it is meant as a direct attack – both halves. She can lie, after all. Before she can rattle me further, I cut her off, needing the rest of the conversation to be private. “Enough. I have heard all I care to on this subject – ”

“No!” Upon registering whose voice interrupts my command, I nearly snap. A murmur ripples through the crowd at the sheer audacity required to interrupt the High King mid-decree. Nicasia shamelessly continues. “Taryn could have a charm on her, something that makes her resistant to glamours.”

She’s already resistant to glamour. I want to scream. But if Jude is going to torture me in front of the whole Court, why can’t I? “I suppose she’ll have to be searched.”

Her shoulders subtly shift back as she stands a little straighter, stiffer. Hiding terror that I can’t quite understand, she counters me. “My husband was murdered. And whether or not you believe me, I do mourn him. I will not make a spectacle of myself for the Court’s amusement when his body is barely cold.”

Very well, then. What a perfect excuse to get the answers I require. “As you wish. Then I suppose I will have to examine you alone in my chambers.”

***

She stands rather awkwardly across the table from me, her face fixed with an odd expression I can’t quite place.

She’s back. She’s home. She’s here. I can’t repress a grin. I gesture for her to join me on the couch. Start with the question that’s been eating away at me since I saw her walk in, the one which may seem the most trivial to anyone else, but is the most important to me. I attempt nonchalance as I say it.

“Well, didn’t you get my letters?”

Six unanswered letters. Six fragments of my heart that were never so much as acknowledged. Six attempts to understand what was going on in her head.

“What?” Bewilderment flashes through her clever eyes.

“You never replied to a one. I began to wonder if you’d misplaced your ambition in the mortal world.” She may well have. This may have been intended as a short visit. I will change that intention.

She appears to be genuinely confused. Is it possible she never received them? Does that explain her absence?

“Your Majesty,” she begins. Your Majesty? Does she really hate me so much as to resort to such formality? “I thought you brought me here to assure yourself I had neither charm nor amulet.”

Oh. We’re still playing that game, are we?

I give her a look. “I will if you like. Shall I command you to remove your clothes? I don’t mind.”

Something in her snaps. Her facade, I realize. “What are you doing? What are you playing at?”

Did she really think I didn’t recognize her? I think back to our interaction in the throne room. Had she thought me beguiled by a simple wardrobe change?

You mistook one for the other once before.

The memory hits me like a punch to the stomach. “Jude, you can’t really think I don’t know it’s you. I knew you from the moment you walked into the borough.”

For some inexplicable reason, this seems to unsettle her more. Was she here on some agenda besides her own? The Council’s warnings of her potential allegiance to Madoc suddenly flood my thoughts.

“That’s not possible.” She shakes her head; that same unplaceable expression returns. She seems to be trying very hard to figure something out. Her scheming face strikes me as bizarre. What is her angle?

All at once, I become singularly aware of every inch that separates us. It’s worse, somehow, than when we were an entire ocean’s breadth apart, to be so close yet not touching. She’s not close enough for me to see the green in her hazel eyes. She’s not close enough that I can feel her breath as further assurance that she is, in fact, here before me. She’s not close enough that I could reach out to hold her hand, should she want that. No question of whether I want that. I want that more than I need air to breathe, in this current moment. She’s not close enough. I hate it. I stand up, needing to have her in my arms. “Come closer.”

She backs away from me, an emotion I don’t want to recognize screaming from her eyes. The pain in my chest swells. I clench my fists to hide their shaking, but I need to confirm one thing.

“My councilors told me that you met with an ambassador from the Court of Teeth, that you must be working with Madoc now. I was unwilling to believe it, but seeing the way you look at me, perhaps I must. Tell me it’s not true.” What will I do if it is? I cannot arrest her. She is my Queen. Every advantage is hers: her authority over the kingdom, her authority over my will, her authority over my heart. Should she be in an alliance with her adoptive father, the kingdom, along with its pathetic king, would be ruined.

Initially, this accusation just seems to confuse her again. Then, she seems to understand, though she does not voice whatever realization she just had. “I’m not the betrayer here.”

Oh. I hadn’t anticipated that her continued absence would still concern my paltry attempt at humor. Alas, for this at least, I can make amends.

“Are you still angry about—” Suddenly, as I study her body language, I come to a realization of my own. Her entire body is taut and shaking, and she seems to be wearing her anger as armor. I recognize this tactic; I’ve used it myself countless times. The tactic of using anger to disguise one particularly uncomfortable emotion. “No, you’re afraid. But why would you be afraid of me?”

She fears me. How could she possibly still think I harbor any desire to hurt her? Can she possibly still believe I hate her? I thought this lie had been dispelled long ago.

“I’m not,” the quaver in her voice and the shaking in her body give her away. “I hate you. You sent me into exile. Everything you say to me, everything you promise, it’s all a trick. And I, stupid enough to believe you once.”

Every word she says is like a tiny sword aimed directly at my chest. Is it possible she never realized? I had thought I had made it quite clear how desperately I had awaited her return. “Of course it was a trick -” She clutches a knife to her. Madoc must have sent her to kill me. Her hatred is genuine, and my heart lies in shattered remains all over the floor.

Before I can so much as utter another word, the whole world shakes. Or is it just my world? No, Jude seems just as alarmed as I am. Ah, of course. She must have been meant to kill me, and the explosion meant to hide her escape. I am unable to do much else but stare at her, concealing my anguish as I always have: behind a glare.

Her ears prick up as something akin to sword fighting echoes down the hall. With a muttered “Stay here,” she darts out of the room before I can react.

No. Not again. Absolutely not. I am not losing her again. Even if her plan was to kill me, let it be so long as I never have to endure another second of her absence.

She is already gone. When I make it into the hall, I am just able to make out Madoc’s figure as he carries Jude off down another corridor. A battle rages around me, and though I know I should be concerned about how close they made it to my chambers, all I can see is Jude’s absence.

It seems that Jude was the prize. Although the contingent of soldiers that Madoc brought here far outnumbers my guards, they recede as soon as they see that she is secured. The renegades begin racing down and out of the hill. Well, all shall soon understand the price that is to be paid for such an act.

Thorns and briars, vines and branches, commissioned by myself and empowered by all the cruel magic of Faerie, wind their way through the many corridors of the Palace of Elfhame after Madoc’s men like vipers after a meal. I fall to my knees and my vision blurs, every ounce of strength and every drop of energy pouring into the attack.

The Bomb finds me some time later, slumped against the doorframe to my chambers and surrounded by blood.

“She’s gone, Your Majesty.”

The world goes black.

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